


Price to Pay

by Pacificrey



Series: These Streets Are Paved With Blood and Gold [4]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF, Sideshow - Fandom, The Creatures | Cow Chop RPF
Genre: Fake AH Crew, Fake Chop, FakeHaus, GTA!AU, Gen, Swearing, gunshow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-24
Updated: 2018-08-24
Packaged: 2019-07-01 21:57:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15782919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pacificrey/pseuds/Pacificrey
Summary: (This is actually the sequel to "Next to Me," another work in this series, so read that first!)When the group known as Gunshow gets a “cease and desist” from the rest of the Fakes, they take it as a challenge. And with the benefactor of the crews holding a masquarade ball, it’s the perfect opportunity to break in, steal the crown jewel of the Fake Empire and escape, but not before leaving the rest a message: Don’t play with us. But as usual, things never go true to plan.





	Price to Pay

The bullet rips its way through Criken's chest, and the blow knocks him down. Criken feels James grab him, pull him into his arms and cradle his head. Criken tries to focus. James is pushing on the wound, and there's pain on his face. Criken feels bad. James doesn't need this. James mumbles something Criken can't hear. He can guess. 

 

"Keenan," Criken coughs out, feeling the blood rise in his throat. "My name's Keenan." Criken exhales and closes his eyes, and the world goes black.  

 

"Hey, Criken. Wake up," a voice calls through the fog. Criken blinks, trying to sit up. "Woah, don't get up too fast," the voice continues and he feels a hand on his shoulder, holding him from getting up. "The bruising is still pretty bad." Criken's vision clears and he sees a mess of red hair. 

 

"Tomato?" Criken asks, and Tomato laughs. 

 

"And he returns from the land of the dead!" Tomato exclaims, a smile spread across his face.  Criken rubs his forehead. 

 

"How long was I dead?" Criken asks, and another familiar voice from the corner answers. 

 

"Legally? For the past two years," And the voice steps into the light. 

 

"No need for dramatics Bed," Criken laughs, and Bed shrugs. 

 

"Hey, I'm not the dramatic one, Criken," Bed says pointedly. "The first time you faked your death? Poetic. But the 3rd time in a week when you're the one supposed to be doing the dishes? That's dramatic." Criken scoffs, and Tomato shakes his head. 

 

"Bed does have a point," Tomato adds, and Criken huffs in disappointment. 

 

"Oh you're both not dramatic at all? Bed you don't film our heists and stitch them together in a "Oceans 11" style montage?" Criken acuses, and Bed just shrugs. "And Tomato? I specifically remember you installing a voice modulator into your mask so you could, and I quote, 'scare the shit out of hostages.'" 

 

Tomato raises his hand. "Uh, I don't know If I would call that dramatic as much as inventive." Criken waves his hand dismissively. 

 

"Unimportant. The pressing issue, what did I miss?"

 

"As soon as Tomato took the shot, we had ears on all channels," Bed says, gesturing to the open computer. Criken looks back at Bed. "We picked you shortly after Nova and HD vacated the alley. Luckily, your performance was convincing enough that those two didn't feel like checking for a pulse," Bed pressed the spacebar, and a video screen opened, replaying the scene in the alley again. The bargain, the shot, his death. It was painful hearing James' pleas again. 

 

"So it worked?" Bed shook his head.

 

"To the rest of the network, you're dead. We're not sure if they believe it, but since Nova, I mean James, is for sure spreading the story, he's helping to spread the idea." Bed answered.

 

“And soon after we sent the email.” Tomato grins.

 

“How did they like that?” Criken asks, and Bed makes vague gesture, swinging around to open up a few screens. 

 

“Weirdly, that chatter has been, somewhat...quiet.” Bed’s eyes are trained on the screen, scanning through various documents. “I mean, for the size leak we spread, you would think  _ someone  _ would be talking about it?” Criken was silent. He knew the consequence of what they did. Leaking an organization's own information to them? Bold, and could end up getting them killed if they weren’t careful. 

 

“Guess it’ll take some time,” Criken smiles back. 

 

____

 

_ "Do we have to go over this again?" Bed asked, and Tomato shook his head. Criken examined the map again. "Good. So Criken, after you fake shoot me, I'll need you to take me out of there as soon as possible, so Nova doesn't get suspicious." Criken nods. _

 

_ "What if you left some, I don't know, information, just laying around the tables? We could easily throw him off the trail if he thinks we don't want him to know," Tomato interrupts.  _

 

_ "That's good. Some reverse psychology." Criken smiles. "And make sure that we have enough blood packs as well. We need this to look convincing." Tomato looks at Criken, concerned.  _

 

_ "Are you really sure you want me to shoot you? We can just use blanks." Tomato pauses. "I-we don't want you to actually get hurt." Criken laughs.  _

 

_ "Isn't that kind of the point? Besides, we need to make it as convincing as possible." Criken smiles at Bed and Tomato, burying the fear rising in his throat. He's definitely scared, more than he's been ever. If even one thing is wrong, if one person is a second off their cue, or forget one detail, their entire job is done. There will be no second takes or redos. This is a one take play they need to perform perfectly on opening night. But this was his favorite part of the job. The planning, the ideas, the backstage. Of course, the main event was always fun, but his specialty was the side show. _

 

_ "Let's get going then." Bed rolled up his map, and as they walked out the room, Tomato hit the lights, leaving the room in darkness.  _

 

_ ___ _

 

The streetlights buzzed by as Bed drove down the road. Criken sat in the passenger seat, with Tomato laying across the back seats, sleeping. The city was very much alive, despite the time. Storefronts lit up, cars on the streets, people wandering around. Criken took a deep breath. 

 

"I know it's hard," Bed said softly, like he knew what Criken was thinking. "Seeing that kind of raw emotion that close, and not being able to do anything to help." Criken looked over at Bed, his face blank. He didn't know a lot about Bed's past, and he definitely didn't like talking about it. 

 

"James was so...genuine," Criken said, and Bed nodded. 

 

"You still might see him again," Bed suggested, and Criken was quiet, looking back out at the city.   

 

Bed drove them outside the city, out from the eyes of the rest of the crews. They needed time for the dust to settle, for people to forget them. They needed the world to think they were gone. 

 

The house seemed smaller than the last time he had been there, but then again, the night always made things look different. Bed turned the car off, leaving them in quiet. Tomato stirred and awoke, rubbing his eyes. 

 

"Are we there already?" He peered between the two front seats, and Criken nodded. 

 

"Ready for a little camping boys?" Bed smiled, and Tomato groaned. 

 

"Whatever happens, I call top bunk." Tomato opened the door, exiting the car and pulling his backpack along with him. Criken followed, opening the trunk to grab everything they would need. 

 

The front door burst open, and Buck basically tumbles out, his mouth already running a hundred miles an hour.

 

“I missed you all so much! I’ve been stuck in here for so long and Shayne has been my only company not that that’s a bad thing but it just got so boring up here and -” He stops when Tomato brings him in for a hug, his eyes closing tight. 

 

“We only left you for a week!” Bed laughs, opening his arms as Buck moves to him next. 

 

“And it was a week too long!’ Buck answers, and finally hugs Criken, his grip surprisingly strong. They all move inside, doing a sweep of the house, making sure there’s no bugs, real or mechanical, and finally settle. 

 

The house is big and cold at night, with enough beds that realistically, everyone could get their own. But it never happens like that. One by one, they find their way into each others bed’s, maybe for warmth, for comfort, for various reasons. But it was rare for the same people to be in the bed they fell asleep in. And as soon as Criken’s head hit the pillow, Tomato walked in, quickly making himself comfortable against Criken’s side. Criken enjoys the company, and it helps him quickly fall asleep in the unfamiliar cold and dark of the quiet house.

 

_ Right here, right here.  _

 

_ Please.  _

 

_ No, no, no, no, no….Keenan! Keenan! _

 

_ Bzzzz. Bzzzz.  _ Criken startles awake, lifting his head slightly, looking around the dark room.  _ It’s a dream,  _ he says.  _ A dream he’s had for the past month,  _ Criken rubs his eyes. The phone on the tableside is going off.  _ Bzzzz. Bzzzz.  _ The clock says 2 AM, and he is too entwined in Tomato’s arms to bother reaching over and answering, so he groans and closes his eyes, trying to forget the dream, waiting for the call to go to voicemail. It inevitably does, and as the room falls once again to the sound of quiet breathing, Criken falls asleep. 

 

“Hey I got a weird call last night, did you see that?” Tamto asks over breakfast and Criken shakes his head, grabbing a mug out of the cabinets. Bed lifts his head as he holds a spoonful of cereal. They hear footsteps coming down the hallway and Buck walks in, yawning and stretching. Criken holds out a mug, offering coffee and Buck nods. 

“What kind of call?” Bed asks, before shoveling the spoon into his mouth. Tamto shrugs, sitting down opposite Bed. “I’m not sure. It’s an unlisted number, and they left a voicemail.” He presses a button on the phone and they all pause as a chilling, robotic voice starts speaking. 

 

“Good morning. It seems that you have begun messing with things that you have no idea the extent of. No idea the consequences you have. Your little games have been fun, but they are going to stop. We know where you are, and we can very easily ensure you never again step foot in this city again. Goodbye.” There’s a click and then static. They all look around at each other, and Tamto is the first to talk.” 

 

“Wow, that guy sounded like a real dick.” Tamto shakes his head. “At least threaten me in person.” Criken lets out an anxious laugh, and then walks over to the table. 

 

“Can you track the number?” Buck asks and Tomato sighs. 

 

“Not sure. It is unlisted, but I might be able to work around some things.” He puts the phone down, and gets up to grab his laptop. Criken clears his throat, putting coffee on the table for Buck. 

 

“We already know who it is though, right?” Criken looks over at Bed, whose face lights up as the realization dawns on him. 

 

“It’s the Roosters,” Bed says, a little too much enthusiasm in his voice, which seems to annoy Buck. 

 

“Is that exciting for some reason?” Buck asks, and Bed smiles, looking back to Criken. 

 

“Jeez, they really think we’re playing around?” Bed sneers, and then shouts to Tomato: “Getting anywhere with that phone?” Tomato yells back some incomprehensible noises, which they interpret as no. “I’m only slightly insulted,” Bed says, standing to clear his cereal bowl. Criken takes a deep breath. 

 

“We knew that, eventually we would attract their attention, Buck,” Criken explains, gripping the back of the chair. “We just thought that when we did, they would be offering us a job, not telling us off.” 

 

“Yeah, but now we get to enact plan B,” Bed says from the sink, rinsing his bowl. Tomato yells from the other room, and they all look over. 

 

“They really think they’re so tough! Let’s see how tough they are when we come right through their front door!” Tomato yells, and they watch as Tomato presses a few more buttons and ten screens open up in front of him. “Look at this!” He yells, and Criken, Bed and Buck all make their way over to Tomato and his computer. 

 

“What is-” Bed starts, and then stops, as they realize what had happened. Tomato hadn’t just tracked the call. He had hacked the security cameras for the Rooster Headquarters. 

 

“Holy shit Tomato,” Criken mutters. “I don’t want to ask how you did this.” 

 

“Oh, it gets better.” Tomato smiles, and presses a few more keys. “I’ve got all of their emails as well.” He scrolls, and opens one up. “And look at this: Burnie is holding a party at the end of the week to celebrate the opening of a treasure wing of the museum.” Tomato pauses, pointing at the recipients. “And look whos invited.” They all lean in as Tomato points to different names. 

 

“Burnie, as in Burnie Burns? The billionaire philanthropist?” Buck asks, and Tomato laughs. 

 

“Yeah the very same. His side project seems to be keeping these groups  _ on _ the streets.” 

 

“Those are all gang names,” Bed says, staring at the screen. “It’s a Rooster Party.” 

 

“Then every major player from these groups should be in attendance,” Criken says, the gears turning in his head. 

 

“And you know what is going to be the center of the exhibit?” Tomato hits the spacebar, displaying a picture of a beautiful red diamond. “The Rooster Diamond. It’s been in the Burns family for hundreds of years. Probably stole it from someone,” Tomato adds at the end, turning back to the computer. 

 

“And we’re going to steal it from them,” Criken says, and they all look at him, silenced. 

 

“Are you crazy?” Buck says, looking between Tomato and Criken. “You do realize the people that will be attending? The amount of weapons that will be present? The amount of security? It’s impossible.” 

 

“Not completely,” Bed says. ‘Think about it. The Roosters contacted Tomato. Why? Because he’s the only one that they know about.” He gestures to Tomato. “After that call, they probably think you’re running scared, and wouldn’t go anywhere near this event, even if you knew about it.” He points to Criken. “They think you’re dead, and they don’t even know Buck and I exist.” Bed shrugs. “They definitely would not be expecting a well thought out heist to hit the one place where a large number of dangerous criminals are hanging out.” 

 

“It does sound like an extremely stupid plan,” Criken agrees. 

 

“Exactly. And what is most things that we do?” 

 

“Stupid,” Buck laughs, and Bed cracks a smile, laughing with him. 

 

“Exactly. Then let’s do this thing.” Bed says. 

 

“Oh and one more thing,” Tomato smiles. “It’s a masquerade party.”

 

__

 

The week goes by fast, organizing everything that they need for the job. Bed pulls Criken to the side one day, whispering. 

 

“We need to have guns.” Bed says it with certainty, and it worries Criken. Before he can ask why, Bed continues. “I’ve done things like this before. We will need a back-up plan if things go wrong.” Criken nods, and makes sure to talk to Lawlman about getting a few guns. Lawlman arrives early the next day, knocking on the door with a duffle bag under his arm. 

 

“Hey Lawl,” Criken says, opening the door. 

 

“Are you sure you don’t need any help? You know it wouldn’t be any problem,” Lawlman offers, handing the bag over as Criken hands him an envelope. 

 

“It’s really ok,” Criken tells him, putting the back down. “Thank you though.”

 

“Whatever you say Criken,” Lawlman nods. “Tell Buck I said hi,” Lawlman says as he turns and leaves.   
  


They work as long as their bodies allow them too, Criken sometimes finding the other three crashed together on the couch. Criken sometimes finds himself wrapped up in those piles. 

 

And sleep hasn’t been kind to Criken in the past month either. He keeps hearing the bullet, hearing the agonizing cries of a friend that believes you’re dead. Not being able to help. He wakes up in a cold sweat more often than not, and it takes the smell and feel of the rest of the group next to him, their presence to settle himself again. 

 

And the thought of seeing James again scares Criken more than the job itself. 

 

__

 

“That is a really dumb mask,” Bed says, as he put in his earpiece, adjusting it to be near invisible.

 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Tomato says, his voice muffled from the huge plague doctor looking mask he decided to wear adjusting his own earpiece in the back of the van. “You’re the one with the stupid mask,” He complains. “You can barely call it a mask!” 

 

“This is a very nice filigree columbia and it’s a nicer mask than you’ll ever have.” Bed huffs back, holding out the mask he picked out, waving it in front of Tomato’s face. 

 

“Boys, boys,” Shayne says from the driver’s seat, flipping through a magazine. “You’re both beautiful. Can we get this thing going?” Criken puts in his own earpiece, and pulls out his mask: a simple red design, nothing flashing, and nothing that will attract attention. He looks around at the rest of his crew in the van: they’re all dressed up in black tie, and cleaner than they’ve probably been in months. Tomato was wearing a full black suit, with a grey shirt and a black tie, contrasting with his bright red hair, and already had his full-faced plague doctor mask on. His gloved hands were hard at work on his laptop. Bed was wearing a red velvet suit with black accents, which he was already throwing his chef’s coat over. Buck had decided, against everyone else’s better judgement, to wear a white suit with a gold tie. He ran a hand through his curly hair as he rechecked the bags they packed. Criken looked to the front seat, to Shayne. He looks relaxed, bored even, with his feet up, reading. But Criken knew that he was running through every possible scenario, every escape route. Shayne was their eyes from the outside, and would be responsible for them all getting out safe. Everyone was immersed in their own pre-heist checks, and Criken felt a twinge of pride in his heart at seeing his crew so put together. 

 

“Check one two one two,” They hear Shayne over the comms, and all give thumbs up. Bed opens the door, and as Criken begins to steps out, Tomato grabs his hand. Criken looks down, then up at the face of the man who has saved him more times than he could count.

 

“Be...be safe,” Tomato whispers, his voice cracking as he lets go.  Criken nods, finishes shoving the mask in his bag and starts to walking away. 

 

“Hey,” Buck calls and they turn. He clears his throat and puts on his serious face. “Bring my boy back home, you hear Criken?” He sniffles, and Bed’s shoulders relax and fall as he laughs. 

 

“Don’t worry babe,” Bed calls as he walks back to the van. He grabs the side of Buck’s face, looking into his eyes. “I’ll bring myself back.” Bed pulls Buck down, bringing him in for a kiss, and Buck grabs Bed’s face back. They embrace, and Criken shakes his head at their dramatics.

 

“I’ll never forget you,” Buck whispers, their eyes closed and foreheads touching. 

 

“And neither will I,” Bed responds, and Tomato finally rolls his eyes. 

 

“Okay Jack and Rose, there’s only room in this van for one of you, so let’s go,” Tomato snarks, pushing Bed along, and Bed sticks his tongue out at Tomato as he finally walks towards Criken. As they walk towards the back of the museum, they can hear Buck over the comms. 

 

“ _ Oh yeah Tomato? Well you’re next, and you’re stuck in here with me.”  _ The comms cut, and Criken and Bed pause to look over at each other. Either Tomato and Buck are going to fuck or kill each other. Criken shrugs because, well that’s a bold move with Shayne in the front seat. Bed shakes his head and they continue, making their way down side streets and alleyways, making their way to the museum. 

 

They kneel down behind a dumpster as the approach the back door to the kitchen. Bed nods as he hands Criken his bag, and pulls out the apron, tying it behind his back and grabbing a cigarette. As he stands up, Criken grabs his wrist and pulls him down again. 

 

“Are you sure about this?” Criken asks, his voice barely above a whisper. Bed looks around, and smiles back at Criken. 

 

“It’s a little bit too late to change my mind though isn’t it?” Bed stands back up, wiping his hands on his apron and sticks the cigarette in his mouth, and taking the bags back from Criken. “Fucking, good for nothing....” He mutters, getting himself into character, and Criken watches as he slowly walks over to the open door, waving at the other kitchen work outside. They nod and he walks in, and Criken lets out the breath he was holding. 

 

“Bed is in. Repeat, Bed is in.” Criken says over the comms, and there’s a pop of static before he hears: 

 

“Copy that, move to position.” 

 

Criken picks his way back down the side of the building, putting his own cigarette in his mouth.  _ Who knew that a cigarette break is the easiest cover?  _ He stops at the side they decided upon, the weak alley lighting giving him a slight reprieve from the darkness of the rest of the place. The door was between the kitchen and the main area where the party would be, and would hopefully be unoccupied by people on the other side. Criken read the door: Emergency. Hopefully it wouldn’t sound any alarms, but he knew Bed was too careful. He would either disable them when he got here, or would've made sure that it was disconnected. 

 

“On my way to you Criken,” Bed says, and Criken leans against the wall next to the door, trying to ease his nerves, taking a deep breath. The warmth of the bricks seep their way through his expensive suit, and he closes his eyes, letting his body relax against the colder breeze that came with the night.   _ Shit.  _ Criken leans down, pulling out his mask, tying it on and adjusting it as the door opens, and another man walks out, a delicate looking black mask adorning his face. He looks at Criken, and Criken laughs. 

 

“Fuck Bed, you scared me,” Criken breaths, and Bed raises his eyebrows. 

 

“What? You didn’t know it was me?” He pauses, emphasizing his words, and Criken knows that he’s talking to Tomato back at the van. “With this silly little mask?” 

 

“ _ Fuck off Bed,”  _ Tomato calls from the comms, and Criken ignores him, gesturing inside. 

 

“Shall we?” Bed leads the way, and as they enter, a man comes around the corner, a cheap looking orange and black mask covering his face. 

 

“What are you guys doing over here? The party’s this way!” He says, a smile and laugh on his face. Criken quickly hid their bags behind his back. 

 

“Needed a breath of fresh air,” Bed answers, holding up his pack of cigarettes, then putting it back in his pocket. Criken nods in agreement. The man nods back in understanding and turns around, gesturing for them to follow. Criken and Bed share a look,wait for the man to leave their line of sight, and then reluctantly follow the man, but not before jacking the door open and stashing the bag behind a decorative plant. As they stroll around the corner, they are greeted by the full masque. Elegant wouldn’t even begin to cover half of it. The place is dripping in wealth, from the crystal chandeliers to the plates of champagne roaming the floors, to the array of expensive dresses and suits that fill the room. 

 

“Woah,” Bed mutters, as a group of women walk past, waving and giggling at Bed. “Can’t believe they left us out of this.” 

 

Criken hears the genuine disappointment in Bed’s voice. Bed’s doesn’t care about the party. He knows how long Bed has worked to make himself be seen as useful, as more than a pretty face, as someone who has ideas that  _ matter. _ And he found that with Criken. But now it was happening all over again. 

 

“Hey,” Criken says, whispering back. “That’s why we’re here.” He places his hand on Bed’s shoulder, squeezing gently. 

 

_ “The hall with the diamond should be to your left. You still need to locate the security office.”  _ They hear Shayne over the comms. Bed looks out at the crowd. 

 

“Copy, Shayne,” Bed says, smiling like he’s talking to Criken. “How much time do we have?” Static, then a click. 

 

_ “You have 15 minutes.”  _

 

“Copy,” Bed responds, and Criken releases Bed’s shoulder. The timer begins. They have fifteen minutes to execute their whole plan. Tomato had argued that it wouldn’t work, that it was too little time. But Bed kept insisting: the more time they spend in there, the more time that people will have to remember their faces, and the more time they will have to get caught. So when they did their dry runs, the shortest they could get it down to was 12 minutes. So as a little bit of security, they gave themselves a three minute cushion of time. Criken takes one last look at Bed before making his way over to the new east wing of the museum, aptly name the “Burns Treasure Wing.” He knows how to not looks suspicious, he walks slow, nodding at smiling. No eye contact can make things worse, but a little makes you seem kind. 

 

Not suspicious. 

 

But it’s only a little bit unsettling that even with masks on, he recognizes many of the faces. Maybe not the faces per se, but the mannerisms, the laughs the outfits are recognisable. The orange and purple suit of the famous Rimmy Tim.  _ Shorter than I imagined,  _ Criken thought. A burst of orange and black, and the Gunhaus crew make themselves known with their loud laughs. The man who brought them over earlier was there, arm over a beautiful blonde woman who Criken recognized as the infamous Gunhaus sniper. She laughs, and Criken has a hard time believing that was the same woman who mercilessly picks off civilians. As Criken returns his focus forward, he almost runs into a wall of a man, wearing a red and gold mask with distinct devil horns.  _ No,  _ Criken thinks.  _ Not devil horns. Bull horns.  _ The man grunts, and Criken apologizes as he passes him.  _ Hundar. Fakechop.  _ He turns his head to watch where he goes, pausing in the middle of the ballroom. He loses him in the crowd, and turns back in the direction of the diamond. 

 

He slips easily out of the crowd, down a dark hallway, and into the room where the diamond is displayed. It shines under a spotlight, its red facets reflecting onto the dark walls. It’s mesmerizing, and Criken stares as he calls over the comms:  _ “Diamond located.”  _ He pauses in the dark, waiting for Bed to answer. 

 

_ “Security located.” _ Bed says after a moment. 

 

“ _ Copy. Moving out,”  _ Buck’s voice responds back, and Criken drags his eyes away, just as easily sneaking his way back onto the floor. He spots Bed, who is sipping champagne across the floor, and leans against the opposite wall, observing the event as a whole. It was almost impressive. Having this many criminals, killers, liars, thieves. All in one room, not only interacting peacefully, but joking, laughing. Criken had to admit that Burnie did somehow do something right. 

 

A man next to Criken clears his throat, and Criken glances over, catching a glimpse of gold and curly hair. 

 

“Sir Bucklington,” Criken says, looking out to the crowd. Buck nods at his name, grabbing a flute of champagne off a passing tray. Criken grabs it back in a fluid motion, placing it on the next passing tray. Buck makes a noise of distress, and Criken smiles down at him. 

 

“We’re not actually here for the party, are we Buck?” Criken asks, tilting his head. Buck rolls his eyes, huffing and putting his hands on his hips. 

 

“Well then what’s the point of this whole thing?” Buck snarks as Tomato interrupts over the comms.

 

“ _ I’m into security. T-minus 5 minutes.” _

 

“ _ Copy. Buck, move to position.”  _ Bed orders, and Buck huffs again and disappears into the crowd.  _ “We’re just waiting for your signal Criken.”  _ Bed adds, and Criken looks around the room. The official unveiling of the diamond was happening at midnight, at which time they would miss their chance, since everyone would be in the hall with the diamond. Criken took a deep breath. 

 

_ “It’s time. Set the wheel in motion.”  _ Criken turns tail, and hears Buck respond over the comms. 

 

“ _ With pleasure.” _

 

__

 

Criken watches from the side of the room as Buck makes his way to the center, shakes his head a little to steady himself, and then, quickly and unexpectedly, trips forward, taking out two waitstaff and the table they were standing at. The room falls dead quiet, the music coming to a halt, and there’s a pause where the people are wondering what’s happening.

 

And then Buck starts screaming. A loud, languishing cry that draws every face in the hall to him. Criken turns at that moment, making his way back to the diamond. 

 

“It’s broken, oh my God please,” Buck yells, gripping his leg, making sure that the bone is visible and there’s as much of a blood spray as he can muster. “Please someone help!” People start rushing over, and Buck feels panic rise in his throat before Bed pushes people aside. 

 

“Call down here people I’m a doctor.” Bed pushes people back, already pulling on rubber gloves as Buck continues screaming. “This is going to get messy, I suggest you stand back.” 

 

Criken has three minutes to unscrew the case and replace the diamond, before Bed and Buck lose the crowds’ interest. He grabs the bag from the plant, and hurriedly kneels by the case, pulling out of the small drill and begins. “ _ Shit,”  _ He mutters over the comms. 

 

_ “What’s wrong?”  _ Tomato asks from his hideout in security. Criken shakes his head. 

 

_ “These screws aren’t coming out as easily as I’d like.”  _ Criken grunts finally getting the first one out. One minute is too long to get one screw. 

 

_ Bed. Buck. Buy Criken some more time.”  _ Tomato says over the comms. 

 

Bed has his hand on Buck’s chest, trying to restrain him as he performs some “field surgery,” and Buck makes direct eye contact with Bed.  _ Plan B.  _

 

“Wait, do I know you?” Buck says, his voice raising even more than before. 

 

“I don’t know...I don’t believe so…” Bed laughs, trying to hide his discomfort. “Can you please…” Bed tries to continue, until Buck cuts him off. 

 

“You slept with my wife you son of a bitch!” Buck yells, and once again every eye in the room is back on them. 

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Bed nervous laughs, and Buck worms his way out of Bed’s hold. 

 

“You slept with my wife and you stole my cat!” Buck screams, and Bed screams back, pushing Buck in the chest. 

 

“Well at least she enjoyed it! I’m going to have hundreds of grandkids running around before you do anything to make her happy!” Bed yells in glee, and Buck tackles him. 

 

Criken hears screaming in the distance and grins as the last screw comes out. He lifts the glass case, and carefully removes the diamond. He holds it up to the camera. 

 

“ _ Congrats. Now get out of there.”  _ Tomato says, and Criken opens a little velvet bag, stashing the real diamond and placing their fake inside, before replacing the glass case. No point in putting the screws back in, they decided. It would take too much time, and they do want them to figure out someone took it.  _ “Bed and Buck have been kicked out and the party is headed your way.”  _ Tomato warns. Criken looks at his watch. 11:59.  _ “Head for the exit NOW.”  _ Tomato adds, and Criken doesn’t need to be told again. But as Criken is walking the sound of footsteps and people laughing head towards him and he ducks around a corner, waiting for them to pass. He waits a moment as their footsteps fade, and then steps back around the corner, coming face to face with a man in a red and black mask, his long, black curly hair tied back in a bun, the blonde streak easily showing through. 

 

“James,” Criken whispers, and James looks up at Criken, confusion illuminating his dark eyes. He pushes Criken back around the corner, out of site from the rest of the party. 

 

“Who the fuck are you?” James whispers, squinting and pointing his finger at Criken’s chest. “Why do you know my name?” Criken stumbles. Seeing James this close again is heartbreaking. “I...uh,” Criken starts but James continues. 

 

“I saw you arrive, and I couldn’t help but think: that person reminds me of someone. But I just couldn’t put a finger on it,” James pokes Criken in the chest with each word. 

 

_ “Criken, where are you? You have thirty seconds before the unveiling,” _ Shayne calls into Criken’s ear, but Criken can’t hear him. He wanted to explain to James what happened, why it happened, that he missed him. But the only thing that came out was: 

 

“I’m so sorry.” Criken pulled off the mask, looking James in the eyes, and for a moment, there’s the flash of recognition before Criken quickly leans in, grabbing James’ face and kissing him. He’s afraid at first that he made a mistake, but James grabs him back, pulling him closer. 

 

_ “Uh Criken, you have like 5 seconds,” _ Tomato’s concerned voice pops over the comms, and Criken breaks free, pulling his mask back down and walking away, feeling once again like he’s ripping apart. James calls for him once, a desperate “Hey!” but in the dark of the hall and the confusion of people, Criken easily loses him in the crowd. Someone begins speaking, and the crowd hushes, right as Criken exits out the door. He hits the asphalt and runs, his body tripping slightly as he makes his way to the van. The night air is cool and fresh against the stale of inside, and Criken is grateful for the release. He pauses at the end of the alley, pulling off the mask and looking straight into the security camera, giving it a smirk and a middle finger. Shayne pulls up in the van, and Criken basically jumps in. 

 

_ “Way to make an exit,”  _ Bed laughs over the comms, and Criken pulls off the mask once and for all, throwing it into the backseat. Shayne pulls away, tires screeching, and hands him a screen. He glances in the side view mirrors and two sportbikes weave their way in and out of traffic, following them. Tomato on one, and Bed and Buck on the other. He can see Buck leaning back, hands in the air, and relaxes a bit, knowing everyone got out okay. 

 

“ _ Time for the show,”  _ Tomato says over the comms, as Criken watches the screen. It’s one of the cameras from the museum, trained on the diamond, and in turn, on the rest of the party, who were politely surrounding the speaker. “ _ Now,”  _ Criken whispers, and the diamond is gone, exploding into a burst of smoke filling the room. The lights go out, and the emergency lights blink on slowly, popping and crackling from disuse. The smoke illuminates red, and a echoed and mechanical version of Tomato’s laugh echoes through the screen. From the display case an array of white laser lights pop out, dancing around the room, before slowing and becoming a solid image in the smoke. A rabbit mask. 

 

_ “Do you really want us to come out and play? _ ” Tomato’s voice threatens, and Criken can hear him laughing over the comms. The security camera cuts off, and Criken figures they locked the building down. 

 

_ “Nice job guys,” _ Criken says, and he hears yelling and cheers in response.  _ “Now let’s head back and…” _ Criken pauses as he’s cut short, something in the rearview mirror distracting him. A dark green lamborghini with distinct black markings on the hood. Fake AH.  _ “We’ve got a tail,”  _ Criken reports over the comms, and opens the duffel bag bag between him and Shayne, first pulling out a new mask, a simple white design with red accents. He hands one to Shayne, and then grabs the sniper rifle he got from Lawlman, pulling off his suit jacket. He looks in the rearview again, seeing the rest of his crew pulling down their visors, which they spray painted with the design. 

 

Then Criken sees it. Coming up fast from behind the green lambo: a bright red corvette, crudely spray painted with black designs. Fake Chop. Both cars accelerate to catch up with them, and Criken climbs in the back of the van, wrapping a seat belt around his shoulder, then flinging open the back doors. The wind pulls him, wraps around his hair and clothes, and he leans back to steady himself against the back of the empty van. 

 

“Incoming!” Buck yells, as machine gun fire erupts from the two cars. 

 

“Don’t shoot to kill!” Criken yells, as he aims the rifle at the car tires, and a bullet flies past his head, ricocheting inside. “Looks like they didn’t get that memo,” He says to himself, aiming and firing again. Buck returns fire as the two bikes weave between traffic. A woman leans out of the green car, her short blonde hair whipping in the wind, and Criken hears himself mutter  _ oh shit,  _ before hitting the deck, hands covering his head. Another shot misses him by a few inches, and he realizes that some of Gunhaus must have hitched a ride with the Fakes. He slams the doors shut, shouting into the comms. 

 

“ _ Split up!” _ He climbs his way back into the front seat as Shayne pulls a hard right, and Criken catches a glimpse of the bikes, followed closely by the green lambo. The red porsche skids, following behind their van. Criken just hopes that no one else decides to join the party. 

 

Tomato takes the next corner hard, hoping to lose the car, try and gain some distance between them and his boys. He can hear the gunfire from Buck, and considers pulling out his own gun to even the fight, but he doesn’t want to risk it. His hand comes out to balance himself, and he turns his head to watch Bed and Buck make the turn as well, the car flying past, fishtailing out as they try and turn. Tomato accelerates, hoping Bed and Buck keep up. 

 

They make a few more sharp turns, backtrack themselves a little, trying to put time between themselves and AHaus. They make one last left, down a relatively empty street, and a revving engine causes Tomato to look back, hoping they hadn’t found them. Either it was just some random asshole, or Tomato was hearing things, because he sees nothing. That is until he looks forward again, and a car pulls out in front of him, honking. Tomato hits the brakes hard, skidding across the car hood as the man keeps honking, and then driving away. Bed and Buck pull up, jumping off their own bike, running over to pick Tomato up off the ground, who is splayed across the road. 

 

“Tomato? Tomato? Are you okay?” Buck asks, and Tomato’s ears are ringing. He rolls over, and Buck stops mid-stride, seeing Tomato’s face covered in blood. 

 

“Yeah, I’m-” Tomato grunts, lifting himself up onto his elbows. “I’m good.” He wipes his nose on his sleeve and looks over at his bike. “But that isn’t.” They all look over to where Tomato hit the car, and see his bike, clearly wrecked beyond repair. Tomato grunts again, holding his ribs, as they hear a car skid out, engine revving. “And they’re close,” Tomato breathes. 

 

Criken fires again, aiming down his sight at the red car as it swerves and barely misses cars in the opposing lane of traffic. The red car pulls up next to them, and Immortal is hanging out of the backseat window, a malicious smile on his face. Criken ducks as something hits the car. Shayne swerves over, making the red car break hard, and Criken glances out. 

 

“Excuse me?” Criken said, and Shayne looks over, and Criken shakes his head, grabbing a machine gun from the bag. “They fucking threw a knife at us.” Criken leans out again, opening fire at the red car, aiming low, trying to keep it as far away from the van as possible. The van was not going to be able to out maneuver their porsche, and both teams knew it. Criken watches as the driver, a young looking guy wearing a pink hat swerves again, and Hundar in the passenger seat returns fire. Criken pulls back into cover, and Shayne tries once again to lose the car. 

 

“C’mon Tomato, get up,” Buck kneels, glancing around nervously, his hands hovering over Tomato’s prone body. He pulls Tomato’s arm over his shoulder, and Bed moves to his other side, cradling his other side, sharing the weight. Tomato tries stepping, wincing as he puts weight on his foot. 

 

“Are you fucking kidding me,” he says, looking down at his crippled leg. “We can’t move fast with me like this.” He stops, and Bed shakes his head as he figures out what Tomato is going to say.

 

“No, we’re not leaving you here,” Bed pleads, his hand gripping the front of Tomato’s blood-soaked dress shirt. “We can, we’ll, we…” Bed starts his voice raising in panic, and Tomato shakes his head. 

 

“Go. I’ll distract them long enough for you to get away,” Tomato’s voice is quiet, and he tries a weak smile. 

 

“No,” Bed says stubbornly. The car sounds closer now accompanied by gunfire. “Buck,” Bed takes a deep breath. “Take my bike.” Bed turns, pulling off his helmet, tossing it aside, and pulls on the mask from Criken. He walks to his bike, rustling through the side bag, and pulling out a submachine gun. “Get out of here!” Bed yells, his voice breaking. This time it’s Tomato who is pulling Buck away. Buck whines, righting Bed’s bike, and helps Tomato on. Buck looks back, seeing the silhouette of Buck illuminated against the street lights, stalking up and down the road. “ _ Go,”  _ Bed says into the comms, and Buck revs the bike, flipping down his visor. The car swerves around the corner, and Buck speeds off in the other direction. “ _ I’ll see you boys later,”  _ Bed says before they hear static. 

 

“Bed!” Buck screams into the comms. “Bed!” Tears fill his eyes, and they ride in silence, Buck feeling the warm grip of Tomato behind him, the steady rhythm of his breathing. The rush of air past his helmet. A burst of static, followed by Criken’s voice over the comms. 

 

_ “Anyone there, we need some help.”  _

 

The gunfire wasn’t letting up, and Criken knew that Shayne wouldn’t be able to keep them off the van for much longer. “ _ Someone order some produce?”  _ Criken hears Tomato call over the comms, and Criken glances in what’s left of the rear view mirror. The sport bike works its way up through traffic, and as it makes its way up next to the red car, Criken sees the one they call Cib aim a gun out the window as the person on the back of the bike kicks it out of his hands, and in the same movement throws a smoke grenade into the car, and the person on the front of the bike shoots their gun at the tires, effectively bringing the car to a halt on the highway. Shayne relaxes, and they ride for a while, the bike pulling up next to them, Buck and Tomato waving over. 

 

“That was a cheesy fucking line Tamto,” Criken laughs, and he sees Tomato shrug. Shayne drives until he’s sure they aren’t being followed, and pulls into an alley. 

 

“Where’s...Bed?” Criken asks, not sure if he wants to know the answer. Buck looks forward, and Tomato looks down, both silence. 

 

“ _ Someone call for backup?”  _ Bed answers, his voice cracking over the comms. An engine roars, and a sports car swings around the corner. Not just any sports car. The green lambo. The Fakes lamborghini. It’s lights blind them all in the alley, and Criken shield’s his face. “ _ What? You don’t think green is my color?”  _ The door slowly opens, and Bed climbs out. 

 

“Bed!” Buck yells, throwing off his helmet and rushing over, throwing his arms around him, eyes squeezed shut. Tomato leans against Criken, holding his ribs, and Shayne puts his arm around Criken’s other side. 

 

“You did it,” Shayne says, pushing up his own mask and watching Bed and Buck jump around like school children. Criken smiles. 

 

“No, we did it.” Criken puts his arms around Tomato and Shayne, gripping them tightly. “C’mon you two,”Criken calls. Bed and Buck look over. “Time to head home.” Bed heads to the lamborghini, and Criken groans.

 

“What?” Bed asks, gesturing to the car. “I can’t keep it?” Criken takes a deep breath. 

 

‘Bed, they more than likely have trackers in it.” Tomato says, letting Buck help him into the van. “Besides,” he smiles. “It really isn’t your color.” 

 

They make it back to the house without incident, everyone helping Tomato into the house, who complained about it the entire time. Criken insisted that everyone go to bed, we had a really long day, and makes sure everyone has water and is situated. He walks back to the kitchen, quiet and cosy at night. The table is littered with guns and masks, and the small velvet diamond bag. He grabs the bag and walks to the couch, where Tomato is lying. 

 

“Tomato,” Criken whispers, and Tomato groans, a sign that Criken should probably intervene. He leans down, helps Tamto gently out of his own clothes. Tomato winces as Criken pulls his arms back, his whole body stiffens in pain at the movement. Blood covers his front,and bruising is already forming on his abdomen. Criken watches in pain as Tomato lays back down, painfully uncomfortable and walks back to the kitchen, opening the freezer for an ice pack, and walks back to Tomato. He leans down, putting a hand on Tomato’s arm. Tomato winces, gripping Criken’s arm back. 

 

“Criken,” Tomato says, pointing to his side, and Criken holds the ice pack in place, pulling Tomato’s hand over to hold it. Criken goes back to the kitchen, wetting a towel with warm water and returning, kneeling back down, carefully cleaning the blood off Tomato’s chest. Tomato closes his eyes, leaning his head back and trying to steady his breathing. 

 

“Sorry,” Criken says, ringing out the towel, and going back to try and clean Tomato as best he could. 

 

“For what?” Tomato asks, his voice tired. Criken looked down at Tomato’s wrecked body, and wondered why Tomato didn’t blame him for it. 

 

“You shouldn’t have gotten hurt,” Criken answers, avoiding Tomato’s eyes. “I-it wasn’t part of the plan.” Tomato reached out to Criken, grabbing his hand and squeezing. 

 

“Keenan.” Tomato says, and Criken’s breath catches. Tomato never uses real names, his only exception is when he’s being deadly serious. “It happened. You couldn’t do anything about it. And I’m still alive, right?” He interlocks his fingers into Criken’s, just letting the weight sit there, feel the softness of the skin, the beat of his pulse. Criken pulls Tomato’s hand up to his mouth, gently kissing it. 

 

“Do you want to sleep here or the bed?” Criken asks, and Tomato weakly laughs. 

 

“Do you really have to ask?” 

 

__

 

_ Bzzzz. Bzzzz. _ The sound of a phone ringing once again awakes Criken, who sleepily leans forward, only to be trapped by Shayne’s arm and Buck’s whole body. He looks around the dim room, feeling around for the phone.  _ Bzzzz. Bzzzz. _ He reaches down the bed, grabbing the phone.  _ Great,  _ Criken thinks, barely awake.  _ Another unlisted number.  _ A grumble as Bed raises his own head, his hair wild with sleep and his eyes barely open. 

 

“Who is it?” He asks, and Criken shakes his head, pressing answer. 

 

“Hello?” Criken said, and a deep voice answered. 

 

“Meet at the designated location tomorrow at 6 pm and this can end.” Then a click as the call ends, and a text message comes through, a series of numbers. Coordinates. 

 

“Seems like they want the diamond back,” Criken says, and Bed shrugs. 

 

“Typical,” Bed lays back down, and Criken listens as Bed almost immediately goes back to sleep. 

 

“It’s probably a trap,” Tomato says, stretching up, making Criken jump. 

 

“Yeah, I guessed that,” Criken nestles himself back in, and Buck wraps his arms back around Criken. 

 

“What are you going to do about it?” Tomato asks, and Criken closes his eyes. 

 

“Eh, probably the same as always. Fake it until I get there and then barely make it out.” 

 

“Yeah? But you have us.” Tomato breathes, and Criken feels the warmth of the bodies around him, the weight of the people, the care that they all feel. 

 

“Yeah,” Criken agrees. “And I’ll do it all with you guys.” 


End file.
